


Arthur's Sword

by live_laugh_read



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17106029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/live_laugh_read/pseuds/live_laugh_read
Summary: Centuries after the battle of Camlann, a lone sorcerer returns to the shores of Avalon.





	Arthur's Sword

It had been centuries since the final battle upon Camlann’s mighty plain, now host to a small country town, and yet Merlin found himself once again standing at the water’s edge of what was once the Lake of Avalon.

 

He wasn’t sure what had drawn him here, after so long; secretly, some small part of him hoped that the time had come for Arthur’s return, as foretold in the prophecy of the Once and Future King.

 

The lake was still, reflecting perfectly the sky above – the endless blue, with not a cloud in sight, just as it had been before the storm clouds gathered over Camlann.

 

Merlin paced back and forth along the waterline for some time, before deciding to seat himself on a nearby log and gaze out towards the distant mists surrounding that fabled Isle. The memory came to him, unbidden, of a small wooden rowboat, rocking from side to side as the flames consumed it. Arthur’s grave.

 

It was approaching dusk when he rose, walking down again to the water. Since Camlann, he had come here a handful of times to reminisce and pay his respects. Today, he had come because something inside him had told him to come.

 

His neck cracked as he looked up into the sky: the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows mingled with burnt-orange rays through the trees. It was the summer solstice, the longest day of the year.

 

A noise stirred him from his reverie, and he looked down, and squinted, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him. Upon the otherwise smooth lake, a small ripple was spreading outwards near the shoreline.

 

It had to be a water-creature…but none resided here, in this place of magic.

 

As Merlin watched, hope growing within his heart, a slender hand broke the surface, holding aloft a sword – Arthur’s sword.

 

Excalibur.

 

He took a step forward, preparing to retrieve it himself from the water, but was stopped by another, larger ripple. Behind the sword, a figure rose from the lake, striding forward to seize the sword, before continuing towards Merlin.

 

The evening sun seemed to shine brighter, forcing Merlin to shield his eyes with a hand, picking out the figure’s chain mail and royal red tunic, the broad shoulders that were set in just such a way as to exude command.

 

It could not be.

 

Arthur Pendragon, looking not a day older than when Merlin had last laid eyes on him, and dry as a bone, stood before him beside the Lake of Avalon.

 

“Well?” Arthur seemed slightly miffed. “Won’t you say something, old friend?”

 

Merlin swallowed and cleared his throat, regaining the power of speech. “You – why are you here?”

 

The King of Camelot laughed, sliding Excalibur into its sheath and turning to stamp sand off his leather boots. “Don’t you know, Merlin? I’ve come to look after Albion.”

 

“It’s… not Albion. Not any more.”

 

“I know,” Arthur said. “I’ve seen everything, you know. Things aren’t nearly the same as they used to be. And yet, in some parts of this not-so-large world, they are.” He raised his head to look directly at Merlin. “Some people are rooted to their histories.”

 

For a long moment, they looked at one another; then, guffawing, Arthur stepped forward to pull Merlin into a brotherly embrace, tight and warm, and after a second Merlin returned it.

 

The time had come.


End file.
